


Ted

by ShinMeiko



Series: Secondary characters have substance too [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinMeiko/pseuds/ShinMeiko
Summary: Series of moments from Ted's life that didn't make it to the main stories either because they happened before or without Simon.
Series: Secondary characters have substance too [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592485
Comments: 38
Kudos: 34





	1. The girl, the scale, the pills and the boxing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Life is a series of first times that I can't wait to share with you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737509) by [ShinMeiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinMeiko/pseuds/ShinMeiko). 



Having ADHD is the worst. I hate it. I hate not being able to keep a train of thought for very long even when it matters. I hate sometimes feeling like I’m stupid because I can’t do what other people do. I hate always being looking for things. I hate not choosing what I can focus on. I hate it when my mind feels foggy. I hate feeling like I make people tired.

Being diagnosed with ADHD is the best thing that happened to me. Because now, I understand why I am the way I am, and even if that doesn’t make things easier, it also does.

Being diagnosed with ADHD is the worst thing that happened to me. Because now, they want to give me pills. But I am not crazy. Whatever is happening to me, I am not crazy. I don’t need pills. I can manage. I don’t want to take something every day that will turn me into… not me.

I know I am supposed to focus on the civil war, but I just can’t. The pills keep coming back to my mind. It’s not just my mind that’s restless. My leg keeps moving too. I know it can be annoying to others, but I can’t help it. I hardly ever notice it, but even when I do, like now, I am unable to stop it. The only thing that can is…

Just as I think about it, Amara’s hand lands on my thigh, by my knee, and presses down. She cannot use her right hand to write anymore, so she picks up her pen with her left hand and keeps taking notes. I take a minute to look at how her handwriting slightly changed – because she is not one hundred percent ambidextrous – but is still perfectly neat and legible. She is amazing.

I am amazed by the way she is both taking notes, using her nondominant hand, and taking care of me at the same time. How can other people so easily and mindlessly do things without having to concentrate on them?

Then again, I’m not thinking about the pills anymore. Not that I’m thinking about the civil war either. I’m thinking about Amara. I do that a lot. It doesn’t even freak her out.

Let me take something back. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. Not just because she kicked someone’s ass for me, but just because she accepts me. Exactly as I am. She is strong enough to never be intimidated by anything I say or do. She is gentle enough to calm me down and balance my crazy energy. She is witty enough to keep up with my train of thought and even challenge it. She is crazy enough to like me back.

I remember when she rescued me that day. I looked at her with what was probably the most impressed and smitten face and asked her point-blank if she wanted to be my girlfriend. She laughed – and gosh do you miss something if you never heard her laugh – and surprisingly replied, “Sure. But I’m not kissing you.” We were just twelve then, but her assurance and badassery made her look like a real grown-up (to my then standards). Her answer shocked me. It was much more than I hoped. And… trust me… there has been kissing happening since.

It took me a year, but I was the first one to kiss her on the cheek. A few months later, she was the first one to kiss me on the lips. It took us forever to get there, but that’s fine by me. We have time. All the time in the world. I already know that I’ll be marrying that girl someday. She doesn’t even panic when I tell her that. She usually just tells me things like “if you’re paying for it”, “as long as you plan on making me happy forever”, or “only if you wear a dress too”. I’d totally be up for that.

I feel her finger squeeze my thigh harder, uncomfortably. I have been staring for too long. I turn my head toward the board and her finger let go. Her palm keeps pressing down, though. I see the words on the board, I copy some down. It won’t make much sense, but I’ll be able to copy her notes later. I just do that because it helps me focus back on the lesson sometimes.

Not today. My head just went back to the pills. I don’t think they’re going to be optional. My parents have this ridiculous attitude of trusting the doctor’s judgment more than mine. I know. That’s just outrageous.

I take down a few more notes and I know that none of it is going in my brain. I hate days like these. Why even bother having to be in school when I can’t learn and will have to go through everything again on my own? The warmth on my thigh reminds me that I will not have to do it on my own. I will just have to do it twice. Why does she keep doing this? I find it tiring to have to go through the lessons again every day, so I can’t even imagine what it must be like for someone who actually processed the information the first time. Where does her patience come from?

Her fingers squeeze again. Right. Stop staring.

When the bell finally rings, I both feel like I’ve been here for five minutes and a million years.

“Finally! Lunch!” I blurt out.

I am about to ask Amara if she wants to share my amazing-perfected-over-time-never-to-be-improved sandwich when she replies: “Not yet.”

That completely stops my train of thought. It quite literally gets still on his tracks. I start counting the lessons I had today. “It is lunchtime, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you need to run first.”

Oh. I really don’t want to. But she has a point. When things get too much, I need to let some of the energy out. It doesn’t always work, but it helps sometimes. Run enough to clear my mind, not enough to get sweaty. That’s my motto. I follow her to the tracks. If it helps me going through the end of the school day, it will have been worth it.

“Number?” Amara asks me as I let myself fall on the bench next to her after running around the track field a couple of times.

“I dunno. Four?” She isn’t asking about the laps. We developed a scale. Not a very elaborate one. It goes from zero to eleven. The higher the number, the more hyper I am. Zero is death. Even when I sleep, I can’t be a zero. One would be a very, very bad flu day when I can’t do anything but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. Without the lights on. Two is sleep. Three is a quiet day. Four is when I feel calm but I know somewhere that it won’t last very long. Five is when I can focus but I can feel things bubbling at the back of my head and under my skin. Six would be when I can still sort of focus on what I need to, but only by getting fidgety. Seven would be like earlier in class. I know what I’m supposed to do, but I can’t because parasitic thoughts keep getting in the way. Eight is when I can't stay still, when the chaos isn’t just in my head but in my entire body. Nine is when things are overwhelming. When the condition takes over. Ten is when I don’t remember exactly who I am, which decisions are mine and which are made just because of a random impulse in my brain. Eleven doesn’t exist. Eleven is a step where even Amara couldn’t reach me. That never happened. That can’t happen. If I ever reach eleven, the only way to come down would be to reach zero. I have reached ten just once. Amara is the only reason I moved from ten to nine instead of ten to eleven. I am terrified of eleven.

When I reach eight, I always call Amara. She brings me down. If I can’t reach her for any reason, I do some of the things she taught me. I go for a run. I list the state capitals. I try to think of my happy place – I don’t really like this one. I focus on breathing. If I reach nine, I do all four. Anything to never have to live ten again.

I unwrap my sandwich and she takes half without asking. Because that’s what we do.

When I start lunch higher than a five, we always have lunch just the two of us, away from the liveliness.

I know that some people don’t understand what she sees in me why she makes all those sacrifices. Or just assume that she has a hero complex. I totally see where they are coming from. It’s not something that bothers me, though. I couldn’t explain, or even fully comprehend, why she is with me, but I _know_ why. There is this thing between us that I never felt with everyone else. A link and a complete understanding that I can’t put words on. It’s fine. I don’t have to explain it. I just have to feel it.

I always see her. The real her. And it’s beautiful. I think she sees the real me. It’s terrifying. But it’s also the most fulfilling thing ever. It feels like an adult feeling. I’m not ready for any of the adult things. But I am ready for that. I am ready for her.

“I want to talk about it again.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ted…”

“What? I know what you’re going to say. You said it before. My parents said it before. The doctors said it before. You all want me to listen to what you have to say, but no one wants to listen to what I have to say.”

“No. Stop right there. That’s not true and you know it. We do listen to you. Actually, ignore the ‘we’, I don’t know about the ‘we’. But _I_ listen to you. Always.”

“I know, what I meant…”

“I’m not upset. But I _did_ listen to every single thing you said. And you haven’t listened to me. You are so afraid that I am going to be against you or make you do something you don’t want that you haven’t listened to me. But when have I ever done that to you?”

“Amara…”

“When, Ted?”

“Never.”

“Okay. Then I need you to listen now. Can you do that?”

This is stressing me out. I am afraid of her and what she might say. I’d say that I am a five, now. But I put everything I have into focusing on her. She is right. She is on my side. Always.

I nod and she carries on: “You’re a four now. No… Five?” I nod again. “See… always between five and eight. You’re not doing so well lately. What if the pills can help? Even if your new normal is just reduced to four to seven… isn’t that worth a try? I know that you’re afraid the pills will change you, but it doesn’t have to be forever. If they do not work or if they alter you too much, then we’ll stop.” I love that she said ‘we’. “You could take the pills for a while and then decide if they make a difference or not. And if it’s a positive or a negative one.”

“What if I can’t tell? What if the pills make me worse, or different, but I’m not able to tell?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll tell you if I think it doesn’t help. I can be your control group. Can you trust me enough for that?”

Yes. I can definitely do that. “You won’t let me become a zombie?”

“I won’t let you become anything but what you are. This is not for us. This is for you. To make things easier for you. But we’re not going to lose any of you in the process. Neither the good, nor the tiring.” That’s always how she describes me. Half-good, half-tiring. As if there wasn’t any bad in me.

I look at her emerald eyes and I slowly move down to a four. Her eyes… The way she looks at me… “I’ll take the pills.”

She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t look like she won or got what she wanted. But a tension leaves her face and her shoulders. I really hope the pills will work. Just for that tension to never come back.

“What’s your number?” I ask her as a joke.

“Four,” she replies handing me a banana. I never used to eat fruits. But I guess she had a point about vitamins and potassium and stuff.

“Four? Normal people shouldn’t go over a three. Not that you’re normal. You clearly are a superior human being, and you make the rest of the world seems bland in comparison, but you know what I mean.”

“I know that you’re a dork. And maybe I do have a lot on my mind right now. I think until we know what the pills are going to do to you, I’ll always be somewhere between a four and a six.”

I open my hand, palm up on the table. “Still worth it?”

“Still worth it,” she assures me, putting her hand in mine. Sometimes, I have to check that what I give her is worth what I put her through. She never hesitated. Not once. “Especially since I’m totally going to kick your ass again tonight.”

That one is one hundred percent true.

After school is kickboxing. I didn’t want to join at first because I thought it was a bad idea to put someone as messy as me doing something where people might actually get hurt. But I used to come to watch her practice and I could see the rigor and discipline that goes behind everything. The way everything is done to ensure that although it’s technically a fighting sport, no one actually gets hurt.

So I tried it. I liked it. I came again. It helps. Much more than running tracks.

I am nearly ready. I just need to put the gloves on. But then I remember something I need to tell Amara.

“No,” she objects as I try to take the mouthguard off. “We can talk later. Remember? In here, we…”

“Focus!” I finish. Well, I try but the mouthguard just lets undistinct sounds out. She knows what I mean anyway and she smiles at me.

“Exactly. Okay, here is the plan: you have to let enough energy out so we can sit through an entire movie and follow the plot. Okay?”

I put a thumbs up and she does the same. Her wonderful green eyes sparkle a bit when she winks at me.

I guess I can get quiet for an hour. Or maybe two half hours with a break in the middle.

My leg is getting fidgety again. She doesn’t try to stop it. She doesn’t even notice, actually. In this environment, I don’t have to stay still. She doesn’t have to babysit me. The coach knows all about my condition, but even he doesn’t watch me that closely anymore. I have learned to self regulate. Maybe the pills will help me bring that outside of this room. Maybe they will work. And if they don’t, I know my control group will take me out of the experiment.

I’m still a bit nervous about the pills. But I’m not afraid, anymore.


	2. The girl, the thin walls, the storm, and the bed

Usually, I don’t really like holidays. Well… it’s not that I don’t like the freedom that goes with it, I just don’t cope so well with the boredom. My friends are always off somewhere with their families and my own family doesn’t leave so often. I think I was eight the last time we actually went somewhere that wasn’t camping in my grandpa’s garden in Missouri.

I don’t really mind being poor. Or ‘having to be careful’ as my mom phrases it. In life, you just play with the cards you are dealt. I don’t mind being stuck in Chicago every summer, for instance (apart from the week in Missouri, of course). I like the city and I manage to discover something new every year. I don’t mind having fashionable stuff. I don't mind getting books at the library rather than the book store. It only sucks when it takes something important away.

Like when my dad had to have the crap surgery instead of the most effective one, when we didn’t have heating for two days in the middle of a Chicago winter, when I heard my mom cry over money, or when we couldn’t get a bike for Bethany for Christmas when it’s really the only thing she ever asked for.

We make it work, though. No matter how bad it can get, we always had food on the table, we always had love in the house, and we always had each other’s back. When the heating malfunctioned, neighbors took us in because people like us. My dad got better even after the rubbish surgery. He keeps saying that he doesn’t mind not being one hundred percent if he can at least enjoy his time with his family. My brothers and I found a second-hand bike for Bethany, and Señor Gomez four houses down helped us make it look brand new and she got it for her birthday. My mom hasn’t cried in a long time. It probably helps that my dad can work now.

Anyway. Back to the point. Holidays aren’t usually my thing because people leave and I’m left behind. At least, when it’s school time, I see more people than my two brothers and my sister. I mean… they’re great, but I can also spend time with them during school time.

This year is going to be a bit different, though. Amara’s family invited me to spend two weeks with them in their country house in West Virginia.

It took me a while to accept. For many reasons. The first one is that I felt a little bit guilty to go on a holiday when the rest of my family was left behind. My mom told me that I was being stupid and that if I was waiting for life to be equal and fair to seize the opportunities thrown my way, I would never seize any of them. She added that as long as I wasn’t taking anything that wasn’t mine or that I didn’t deserve, I should never feel guilty.

I also wasn’t sure because I don’t know Amara’s family that well and I am terrified that I am going to say or do something that will make them not like me. I know I can be a lot, and it is important to me that Amara’s family see our relationship in a good light.

The last reason is Amara. We spend a lot of time together, but we have never spent _that much_ time together. What if she sees me for who I really am and gets fed up with it? Or realizes that it is too much to handle for one person? What if we go there and when we come back, she doesn’t love me anymore? Maybe people can only love me in small amounts…

I know that my family loves me, but it’s not like they have a choice. For instance, I love Ben even when he snores so loudly that I can’t even sleep. I love Beth even when she throws temper tantrums. I love Archie even if all his hobbies are stupid and boring. But I don’t want Amara to love me ‘even if’. There already is the ADHD. What more can she actually handle before deciding that I’m not worth it?

But in the end, I said yes, because if I can’t trust that she loves me, what’s even the point of being together?

The Family country house (with a capital F, it’s the one owned by literally all the extended family on Amara’s mother’s side) is impressive. First of all, saying ‘house’ is a bit of an understatement because there is the main house, already much bigger than mine, a smaller ‘guest house’ (yes, apparently some people have a guest house when I have a guest sleeping bag) and a few sheds spread across their massive site. Ground. Land. I don’t know how rich people call a garden you can’t see the end of.

“How rich is your family?” I whisper in Amara’s hear as we are getting our bags from the trunk.

“I’m not. My allowance is lower than yours.”

“Don’t semantic me.”

“That’s not a real sentence, Ted.”

I gently grab her wrist and she gets it immediately. I need an answer. I know it’s stupid, but I don’t ever want _money_ to be something to stand between us. “We’re not that rich. But my grandma inherited the house from her family and my aunts all have _very fancy jobs_ , so they are maintaining the estate.” That’s the word. “We understand that because we don’t contribute that much, the house is theirs more than ours. But they let us use it every summer. And for some other occasion like my parents’ anniversary.”

Okay. Good. Some other people have pretty much told her family that they are not earning enough. I can relate to that.

From what I know about that, Amara’s parents are quite conservative. Which is why I am very surprised when her mother shows me to ‘our room’. But then she adds that “the walls are very thin in this house,” and I get super uncomfortable. I even consider sleeping on the floor.

“The walls are really thin?” I ask Amara as we are both unpacking. “What was that about?”

“She was testing you.”

“Why?” I am low-key panicked, now.

“She asked me if we were sexually active the other day. I said we weren’t, she didn’t believe me, and here we are.”

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Why are some people discussing my sex life? Or lack of? Why are Amara’s parents thinking that I have been inappropriate with her? I behaved very well. I keep every urge under control. They know that, do they? Do they need to know that?

“Ted? Are you alright?”

“Do you need me to tell your parents that we’re not having sex?”

“No. But you’re welcome to tell them to mind their own business.” That is zero percent happening.

Sex is a weird topic for me. Everyone assumes that Amara and I are doing it. I would assume too. We’ve been together four years now, and we’re at that age where teenagers are discovering sex. At least the ones who get the opportunity. We all know that the creepy guy who sits in front of me in chemistry will have to wait at least until he’s thirty-five. And he’ll probably have to pay for it. But it’s different with me and Amara. It just never seems to happen.

It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s not that she doesn’t want to. It’s just… I don’t actually know what it is. Our relationship took time to grow. It was months before our real first kiss, so I think it’s fine if our way to sex is taking its time too. We sort of started moving there – doing a bit of ‘under the clothes’ stuff – but then for a while, the pills sort of messed up with what was happening down there and I didn’t want to tell her. I think she understood enough and we never talked about it. It nearly happened a couple of times since but we simply never went through with it.

I think Amara is fine with that, but we never really talked about it either and, at this point, I’m not entirely sure if she enjoys the place we are in at the moment, or if she’d like for us to move a bit quicker.

One thing is sure, _NOTHING_ is going to happen on the other side of ‘thin walls’.

Okay, I am the most inconsistent person on the entire planet. Or I am just a hormonal teenager. Or both. I might be both. The hormone stuff is because of the teenager thing and the inconsistent thing is because of the ADHD. Or, at least, I can blame it on that.

Anyway. Back to the present. It’s day three. It’s the middle of the night. The house is quieter than ever. Amara and I are making out and things are heating up very quickly. We are both half-naked – okay, maybe ninety percent naked – and I am starting to forget about the thin walls. Or maybe I am just starting to not care.

The way she smells, the way she feels, the way I feel are much more important than anything else, right? Surely everyone is asleep anyway. Maybe. What if they’re not? What if anyone hears? Would they ever mention it? Probably not. Which means that I won’t ever be sure that no one heard anything.

Amara moves a bit under me and I instantly stop worrying. I’m sure we can be quiet. Even with thin walls, no one can hear if we’re not making noise. That’s just physics.

She moves her hand further south, to my precious parts that no one else is allowed to touch, look at, or think about, and it should be amazing but it isn’t. Of course, it’s great, and I love it, but I can’t focus on it. I keep thinking about what comes next. Not in a good way.

If we move any further, it needs to be the best night of her life. She will remember it forever, so it should be a good memory. Can I do that? I probably can’t, can I? Okay, what if I can but we forget the condom? I forget things sometimes even if I was thinking about it a minute ago. No. it’s fine. Amara won’t forget. But what if it breaks? What if she gets pregnant?

Oh, God, what if her parents hear _and_ I get her pregnant? Will her dad kill me?

That’s when it hits me. I didn’t realize before because I would have expected to get all excited and I am sort of fidgeting at the moment. But I am quite high up the scale at the moment. I’m a seven, going on an eight. I can’t do this if I’m an eight. Six would be alright, I guess, but more than that wouldn’t be fair on her.

“Amara, I’m sorry. I think I’m a bit too hyper,” I say, rolling on my side.

I feel a bit frustrated and I know she does too. I feel like a failure and it doesn’t help me relax.

“Hey, Ted, it’s fine.” I don’t know what to answer, so I don’t reply anything. Her fingers gently grab my jaw and she forces me to look at her. “Hey. It’s really fine. We were having fun, weren’t we?” I grunt. “Weren’t we?” she insists.

“We were. I’m sorry we can’t… have more fun.”

“Yet. But we’ll get there.”

“What if we don’t?”

“I’m not indulging all of your apocalypse scenarios tonight. Number?”

“Dunno. Seven or eight.”

She sighs. Do you want to go for a run?”

“Yeah, I think I should.”

“Give me a sec to get dressed.”

“Oh, no, Ams, you don’t have to come with me.” She used to hate when I called her that, but I wore her out.

“Do you want to be alone, or do you want to just let me sleep?”

“I want to be alone.” I never want to be alone when the other option is Amara. But if I tell her that, she won’t go to sleep and I don’t want to bother her any further.

She sees right through my bullshit. “Sure. Give me a sec to get dressed.”

Today is incredibly hot. We are lying on the grass under a tree and I enjoy every breath of air on my face.

“Do you want to talk about yesterday?” Amara just asked that out of nowhere and I feel like I’ve just been shocked.

“No.”

“ _Should_ we talk about yesterday?”

“Why? We can pretend nothing happened and just be happy. It’s the holidays, we’re lying on the grass. This big-ass tree is providing us a nice shadow. We could also go for a walk. Go to the lake we went to yesterday. That was great. Not just because regular people don’t have a lake in their garden. Or we could cook something. I’m sure your mom would be happy if we cooked today. Or…”

“Ted,” she interrupts me.

“Urgh. Fine. Is it the moment you break up with me?”

“Yes, Ted. This is exactly when and why I break up with you. I am perfectly capable to handle the wind making you hyper, but I draw the line at sex exciting you.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” I quote.

“But the highest form of intelligence,” she finishes. “Ted… do you want to have sex with me?” I don’t know how to answer that. It feels like a trick question.

So I do what I always do: I tell the truth. “I do.”

“Then it will happen. Look, Ted… I’m ready to take that next step with you and I’m a bit curious. But that’s the thing. I’m ready to go there _with you_. Because it’s you. So I don’t care when it happens. I want you to stop apologizing.”

“With any other boy…”

“I don’t want another boy.”

“Some people handle the condition and the pills better.”

“And some people struggle way more.”

“Our timeline is weird.”

“Our timeline is perfect. Ted… stop apologizing for being you and just enjoy.”

“Enjoy what?”

“I don’t know. Everything you have. We’re happy. Your dad is doing much better. It’s the holidays and the weather is great. Chocolate.”

“Chocolate?”

“I think we should be grateful for chocolate more often.”

Surely, no one in the world has ever been more in love than I am now.

The storm takes us by surprise.

One afternoon, Amara and I decide to go to the lake. Out of the blue, the wind rises and it starts raining. Although raining isn’t the correct word to describe what’s happening. It’s more like buckets of water are being poured from the sky.

The house seems really far to run to, so we decide to get shelter in a hut by the lake – I have no idea if ‘hut’ is the correct term. It might just be a fancy garden shed. Or a tiny cabin. Or… something. Whatever people feel like building on their ‘estate’.

The place is small, a bit dusty, the wind – and probably some water – finds a way through the planks, but it’s mostly dry and it feels safe. The place has a bed, a wardrobe, an armchair in front of a depressingly unlit fireplace – fireplaces should always host a fire.

Rich people. They have an abandoned tiny house that they probably forgot about.

Amara and I look like we swam our way here. Because she is the smarter, more proactive one, she goes straight to the wardrobe. In there, she finds towels and a blanket. I’m cold and wet, but suddenly, this seems perfect. Maybe we should get a hot shower and then cuddle in the armchair, wrapped in the blanket, waiting for the rain to stop. Oooh, maybe we can even find a way to start a fire. As in the chimney, obviously, not a real fire.

I’m just about to ask her if she has matches when I feel her hand on my arm. “Here. We probably should get out of our wet clothes. Maybe stay warm under the blanket until the rain stops.” Same mindset. We might as well just get married now.

I move a strand of hair away from her face and the entire moment shifts. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But I am not cold anymore. I forget all about the wind, the rain, the world. There is nothing but her.

I gently grab the sides of her top and start pulling it up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting you out of your wet clothes,” I answer. She smiles. I keep pulling. She raises her arms to help me. The damp clothes are sticking to Amara’s skin a bit, making the moment less smooth than it would be in a perfect world, but somehow more real.

We slowly undress each other and the moment becomes more serious. We both know where we are heading.

I run my finger along the scar on her belly, the one from her appendectomy that she tried so hard to hide from me at first. “I love you,” she says and I expect to be pulled back to my usual state of agitation. That doesn’t happen. I almost can’t believe how calm I feel right now. This is it. It’s the moment. It feels right.

I vaguely hear that the rain stopped. We are not stuck in this tiny crooked shed anymore. We could go back. It doesn’t matter. Right now, nothing could distract me from what’s happening. Nothing could stop me. Nothing but her.

She doesn’t.

Just like I envisioned, we are both wrapped in the blanket. But we are not on the armchair, we are still lying in the bed. The light is fading outside. We will have to go back soon.

Not yet, though. I don’t really want to put my clothes back on. They still look wet and cold when Amara’s skin feels warm and soft against mine. Besides, I want us to stay in our little happy place for a bit longer. We cuddle, we talk, we laugh, we are happy, we are in love.

If first times are truly remembered forever, I am happy about this. It was a nice moment that I will always remember fondly. I know she will too. Even though I might have asked her a bit too often if everything was fine. I still can’t believe that girl chose me. Really, I should be too awkward for anyone to love me.

“Number?” she asks me as we are both quiet, just enjoying each other’s presence.

“Three.”

She moves her head to look at me with her gorgeous green eyes that I want to stare at forever. “Really?”

“Really. I’m just… happy, I guess?” It’s not just because we had sex – although I felt relieved in a way, I think I was a bit worried that I would never be able to. It’s because of the connection we have and that we managed to make it even stronger. It’s also the serenity I felt the entire time. I was focused on her and nothing else. I realize that it might not always be the case, but I don’t think it will overwhelm me as much as it used to either.

She smiles happily at me. “Have we found a new way to bring your number down?”

I can’t help but smile back. “Maybe.”

I don’t know if it will be the most effective method, but it will definitely be my favorite…


	3. The girl, the tire, the tree, and the rib

I like this moment. I feel calm.

Today was a good day. We spent the day at my aunt’s. I spent a lot of afternoons at hers when I was a kid and my parents were working during the holidays. Now, I know that most people get to spend their summers differently. They go somewhere. But back then, I couldn’t dream about anything better than spend my afternoons with her, cook something, build a castle with legos, play pirates in the garden, learn the name of all the plants in the garden… she had enough energy to channel all of mine. Even long before the pills. Even on days when my only obsession was to read the entire phone book to her.

She’s sort of my second mom. And yet it took me until today to introduce my girlfriend to her. I don’t know why, but I was really nervous about it. It somehow felt like an even bigger step than introducing her to my parents, asking her to be my girlfriend, or even the first time we were intimate.

I don’t even know if I was afraid that my aunt wouldn’t approve of Amara or that my girlfriend wouldn’t like my substitute mom.

But it went great. They both bonded and they seemed to have genuinely liked each other. Unless it was all in my head. Was it all in my head? “Amara?”

“For the fifth time, Ted, yes, I liked your aunt, and no, I don’t know her enough to know if she genuinely liked me.”

“Fifth time? Am I really that annoying.”

“Yes. But you have one or two qualities to make up for it.”

I smile and report my attention on the scenery going by through the window. I’m not the one driving so I’m allowed to get lost in the colors of the sun setting behind the hills. Or maybe they’re mountains. I’m not sure I know the difference. If you learn something and you don’t remember it, do you still know it? Do you forget things because you learn new ones? Do you only have a limited amount of slots?

I take a deep breath and count to ten. I focus on my breathing. It helps me. I focus on the sky again. It’s beautiful. We’re in May and the weather is perfect.

Everything is perfect. The sunset, the smells in the air, the wind coming through the open windows, the girl by my side…

I know that this moment is going to be one of those that you forget with time, nothing special about it, but that is one hundred percent worth living.

“You’ve been quiet,” she tells me. “You’re never quiet. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m happy.”

“Because today went well?”

“Yes. No. Yes. I mean not only. I’m happy just because.”

She smiles and I stare at that little dimple I love. “I think it’s one of the most fulfilling happiness,” she replies. “The one that’s ‘just because’.”

“Are you happy too?”

“I am.”

“Just because?”

“Just because.”

I’m really a fan of today. I don’t want the day to end. I’m sure Amara wouldn’t mind if we took a detour before getting home. We could grab something to eat. Or watch a movie. Or go to a park. Or go to a bookstore. I haven’t bought a book in ages. Maybe we should do that. Maybe…

My brain registers everything at once but I cannot add all the information together. There was a sound. Something popping or exploding. Then we weren’t going in a straight line anymore. I think we’re spinning. I mean… we’re still four wheels on the road, but the car is now some sort of giant spinning top.

It’s all going really fast and I have no idea what’s happening. I only know two things: this isn’t normal, and I have to check on Amara.

I can see in her eyes that she is panicking. She doesn’t know what to do. It’s going to be fine. I need to tell her that it’s going to be fine.

But then we hit the tree.

Everything hurts. My head, my chest, my arm, my ankle… Why does everything hurt? And that pillow is the least comfortable ever. There is something warm and sticky on my eye. It takes me a few seconds to understand that it is blood, apparently from my eyebrow arch, and that pillow is actually an airbag.

I think there was something about a tree too. Did we just have a car accident?

I look on my left. Amara’s airbag deployed and she is wearing her seatbelt, but it somehow didn’t secure her against her seat. Her window shattered and there is glass all over her raven hair. Her head and arm sort of hanging outside the car.

I start panicking and the ideas spiral and pinball in my head so faster than I can follow. Amara can’t calm me down this time…

This is exactly what calms me down. Amara can’t do anything for me right now. She’s the one who needs help. She saved me a thousand times and maybe it was all so I could save her today. I need to step up, power through, and get us both help.

I quickly look around but we seem to be alone. That’s my fault. I wanted to take the scenic road. I don’t know what to do so I do the one thing that we’re all taught to do. I try to take my phone from my pocket but my right arm hurts too much. I think it’s broken. Like that time I fell off the roof.

I use my other hand and dial 911.

The dispatcher has a very soothing voice and that helps a lot. Just the way she asks me what my emergency is makes me believe that everything is going to be okay.

I answer all her questions, giving her our names, location, giving her as many details as I can remember about the accident. When I tell her that there is smoke coming from the hood of the car, she asks me if I can get us both out of the car.

I tell her that I don’t think I should move Amara but she tells me that everything is going to be okay and I decide to trust her. I manipulate Amara’s body exactly as I am instructed. It’s harder with my lame arm, but I don’t say anything about that. Who cares about a broken arm when Amara isn’t even awake?

She looks like an abandoned rag doll. How can someone look so motionless? Even when she sleeps she doesn’t look so still. Oh God, is she breathing? Is she dead? She can’t be dead. There simply cannot be a world where I’m alive and Amara isn’t. That wouldn’t be right.

The lady on the phone assures me one more time that help is on the way and asks me if Amara is breathing. I’m having a hard time following the conversation. My head is pounding and I am just so tired.

Maybe I should just lie down next to Amara and wait for help now that the lady sent someone.

But the dispatcher apparently understood what’s happening because she tells me to stay awake, to stay with her, to keep talking, and to check if Amara is breathing. I tell her the truth: I don’t know. Even when I do everything she asks, I can’t really tell if Amara is breathing or not.

Besides, I can’t really focus. It’s not like when I can’t concentrate in class because of ADHD, it’s more… I don’t know. Whenever I am looking for a word, it just takes extra effort, it takes a second for my eyes to adjust when I look at something… it’s like my brain is lagging.

“Ted?” the lady asks again. “Are you still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I need you to start doing CPR on your girlfriend. Do you know how to do that?”

“I think so.” We had this thing at school last month. “But my arm is broken.”

“That’s alright. You can do this with one arm. Do you think your other arm is fine?”

“Yes.”

As I start the chest compressions, she goes over the steps and rhythm with me. I think I’m doing alright. Help is going to be there any minute now. Then I can sleep.

But there is this awful sound as I feel something snap.

“Oh God, I think I broke Amara.”

“No, Ted, you’re doing fine. That was probably a rib. It happens. You still need to carry on.” And I obey, even if I’m pretty sure that I can feel her rib moving with every compression…

I don’t know if I want to cry or throw up. I need help to get here soon. This needs to be someone else’s responsibility. This is too much for one person. This is too much for just me…

Finally, after what was probably minutes but felt like hours, I hear the sound of the ambulance. Or firetruck. Or whatever. I’d settle for an ice-cream truck right now…

People in reassuring uniforms are suddenly all around us and they gently pull me away as someone else starts taking care of Amara. Someone with two valid arms, some knowledge, and a machine that looks very efficient.

A man and a woman start doing something to the car, probably so it doesn’t catch on fire, and a paramedic pulls me aside.

He asks me where I’m hurt but I can’t detach my eyes from Amara’s inanimate body.

“Sir, I need you to focus on me.” I try to focus back on him, but if I can’t be with Amara, then I just want to go to sleep. Everything will just be fine if I can just close my eyes for five minutes.

“Sir, stay with me. Where are you hurt?”

“Arm.”

“Yes, it looks broken. Anywhere else?”

Chest and head, but that’s just because of the stress, he doesn’t need to know that. Just a nap and that will go away.

“Sir? How’s your head?”

“It hurts a bit.”

“Maybe more than a bit?” he prompts me.

“Yeah, but I just need to sleep it off.”

“No, no, no. I need you to stay awake just a bit longer, sir. Any other pain?”

“My chest. It hurts when I breathe.”

“Can you take full breaths?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Are you taking any medication?”

“No. Yes. Hum…” I can’t remember the name of my pills. “It’s for my ADHD.” On the side, I can see them put Amara on one of these rolling boards that I’ve only ever seen on TV shows. I don’t know if it’s a good sign. I think that the only thing that would have reassured me would have been a smiling Amara walking toward me, telling me that I did well. I really need Amara to tell me that I’ve done a good job. It seems that if she could do that, it would be the real proof that everything is fine…

I actually don’t understand why that guy is still talking to me. Shouldn’t he be worrying about her as well? She’s the one that’s unconscious and I just need to sleep a bit. “If you have to save just one of us…”

“It doesn’t work like this, sir. My colleagues are taking good care of your girlfriend. I need you to focus on me. You need to take care of yourself too. When she wakes up, she’ll want to see you.”

I’m so tired. I’ve fought so hard to stay awake this long to make sure that someone would come for her. Now they’re here and I just want to sleep. Just for one minute. Close my eyes and get some rest. But after years of trial and error with medication, I know that medicine isn’t magic. The doctors can’t save me on their own. I have to do my part too. I have to fight a little bit longer.

Because he’s right.

When she wakes up, Amara will want to see me.


End file.
